


Brown Eye's Rescue

by toggledog



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Good Parent Din Djarin, Hurt Din Djarin, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Protective Din Djarin, Slow Burn, The Mandalorian (TV) Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:14:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29366871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toggledog/pseuds/toggledog
Summary: Following his 'escape' (after seeing that brown eyed face... not that Mayfield had thought about him much... sure, he'd masturbated to the thought of him because, why not?) Mayfield pals around with a man who also wants revenge on the Empire. He discovers too late the man is a sexual predator when the man attempts to rape Din "Mando" Djarin.Din is frantic with worry after hearing Grogu has gone missing from Luke Skywalker and isn't as cautious as he normally is. Now he has to contend with the reawakened memories of a past sexual assault he'd successfully repressed, along with his need to find Grogu and Mayfield's determination to come with him and help.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth, Din Djarin/Migs Mayfeld
Comments: 12
Kudos: 77





	1. The Attack

Mayfield didn’t witness the ( _oh no-or is it oh yes?- it’s him_ ) Mandalorian walk into the gloomy final-requisite-destination-for-assorted-creeps-and-scoundrels bar. The whistled appreciation of the beskar armour, from his acquaintance Helbo, drew his attention to the familiar figure.

“Now that will go for a pretty amount,” Helbo said.

Furrowing his forehead, Mayfield spun around on his barstool, gulping the last dregs of the sewerage concoction the bar designated as ‘whiskey’.

Paying no heed to the blatant stares and catcalls of the lively patrons around him _(“Hey Mandalorian, come over here!” “Take off the suit, Mando!”_ ), Mando stood for a moment at the bar’s entrance, resplendent indeed in his shiny armour, before heading to a far corner.

“I know him,” Mayfield said, as usual, his tongue and larynx producing words before his mind informed him to cease.

“Oh really?” Helbo raised a pale eyebrow.

They had been paling around together for two weeks, after Mayfield had saved the blond man from being speared by an imperial trouper. Shared hatred of the Empire initially had them working together. However, Mayfield was vastly beginning to regret their companionship. He hated stormtroopers, certainly, but Helbo’s torture before killing them tended to leave a bad taste in his mouth worse than the whiskey he was attempting to imbibe.

His mind cast back to the day before. After a brief skirmish with imperial guards on the planet Feluccia, he had come in on Helbo with two stormtroopers tied up in a cave to stalactites, their uniforms torn off them and cast aside, their naked bodies shaking and weeping to whatever messed up torture already inflicted. Helbo had then the gall to complain when Mayfield shot them both in the head.

“How do you know him?” Helbo brought Mayfield to the present, eyes tracking Mando across the room, where he sat down with a lizard looking creature.

“It’s… a long story…”

“I’ve heard stories about him… he never takes the armour off,” Helbo said. “Wonder what he looks like underneath…”

Mayfield shifted his right leg, absently scratching his knee.

Before Mando was forced to take off the trooper helmet in the officer’s quarters of the planet Morak, he had been curious, himself. Of course, he had joked that Mando could be Gungan but, after seeing the incredible fighter in action, his brain decided upon part android. No human man could achieve the insane feats Mando had without even losing breath.

If he was a human man, in the image conjured in Mayfield’s brain, Mando would be bald, as himself, or with pale hair, cut close to the skull. His weathered facial features would be carved from granite, with a scar slashed down a cheek or across his nose, his eyes pale blue and as cold as his fighting style. The face wouldn’t be one described as handsome or pretty.

Attractive looks were not a necessity when one was out kicking ass all day long.

When Mando had taken off the helmet in the officer’s quarters, Mayfield became instantly aware of how wrong he had been. Facing away from him at the console stood a man with dark hair that curled at the back. When Mayfield stood alongside him, he noted that Mando’s skin was decidedly unscarred and unweathered. Mayfield hadn’t imagined him to have facial hair (how did he trim it if he always wore the mask?) but the moustache displayed his full lips, with a cute nose above and even more beautiful dark brown, expressive eyes. In the conversation with Valin Hess regarding Burnin Konn, though Mando didn’t talk, the warning in the lovely eyes were clear

_“Shut. Up.”_

However, Mayfield was never one to heed to caution, particularly once he was incensed about his horrific past, with the very man responsible for one of the mandatory tragedies.

Rather than an unstoppable machine, Mando the man was… oddly vulnerable. Without the helmet, Mando’s animated facial features displayed his terror, his confusion, his concern, his clear love, fears and fondness for his little lost green son. His stiff body language and awkward glances to Mayfield were in sharp contrast to his confidence, when he had taken on pirates while aboard the imperial vehicle.

“Bet he’s an ugly son of a bitch. Probably why he wears the mask,” Helbo said and laughed. When Mayfield didn’t join in, he turned his large head to him. “Have you seen him without the mask?”

Mayfield swallowed as _that face_ materialised in his mind. He’d gone to planets with pleasure slaves of such impossible, perfect male beauty that, by contrast, Mayfield had found them to be unattractive. As Mayfield had complained to a friend after “There is such a thing as _too_ beautiful, you know?”

Mando was… sure he was far more handsome than he had a right to cover up, but not impossibly so. This, in Mayfield’s reasoning, caused him to be even more alluring than the perfect sculpted visages of the pleasure slaves.

But then, _those eyes_ … Mayfield had not viewed an equivalent to their beauty, even with the pleasure slaves, who all had blue eyes, anyway. 

_Why did you call him “Brown Eyes” and not “Ears”? You gave yourself away._

To his credit, Mando hadn’t queried the odd nickname.

“Of course not! No one sees him without the mask. Hey,” he placed a hand on Helbo’s arm. “I wouldn’t go near him. He doesn’t take kindly to being bothered.”

“Hm… give me a moment…” Helbo stood up.

“Hey…” Mayfield also stood from his stool.

“I’m going to the toilet; you don’t have to follow me!”

Mayfield sat down again and watched the man walk through the crowd, torn between whether to go over to Mando. He wasn’t even sure why; it wasn’t as though they had anything to say to each other. Still mulling the matter over, he deliberated on the face he’d masturbated to because, why not? In his fantasies, Mando was wearing the armour without the helmet, dark eyes staring up at Mayfield as he shoved the armoured legs over his shoulders and gained access enough to his ass to screw him senseless and have that soft spoken voice shrieking with pleasure.

Of course, Mayfield was aware that if Mando had a sense of his errant fantasies all thoughts would then end, due to a swift bullet to the brain from Mando’s gun.

Helbo sauntered back.

“Give it a minute…” Helbo’s lips twisted in an awful grimace.

“Give _what_ a minute?” Mayfield asked.

“I talked to the cook and found out what Mando had ordered. Then I managed to spike it before it was taken to his table…”

_Son of a bitch._

Mayfield stood up, his heart jackhammering against his chest wall, as he strode over to Mando.

_Helbo’s going to get us both killed._

Mando’s companion had departed, leaving the man alone to bring the spoon up under the helmet.

“Mando!” He shouted.

A quick glance down showed Mando had already eaten half the bowl of soup before him.

Mando looked up.

“Mayfield? What are you doing here?”

“Don’t eat the meal!”

Mando pushed the plate away and reached for his weapon, before dropping forward, his head slamming against the table with a loud thud.

“Oh no! Can’t take his ale, this one,” Helbo said, grabbing Mando under his armpits. “The beskar is heavy…. help me…”

Mayfield hesitated, unsure what to do.

“Help me!” Helbo said.

_Ok, I’ll help, only so when he wakes up he only kills us and not potentially the other patrons as well._

Grimacing, Mayfield grabbed Mando by the other arm and both held him up, placing his arms around their shoulders and dragging him out of the bar to the lodgings out the back.

“You’re a kriffing moron, Helbo! What are you doing? When he wakes up, he’s going to kill us both for this!”

“Not without his armour,” Helbo said, as they dragged him down the corridor, and opened the door to their room, whereupon Helbo threw Mando onto the bed.

“Now, let’s see what we have under here,” Helbo said, removing Mando’s helmet and throwing it to the floor.

Mayfield moved closer, pulse quickening at the handsome visage once more revealed to him, as well as the consideration of the pain Mando was going to dish out, once he awoke.

“Damn! This wasn’t what I was expecting,” Helbo enacted an odd gesture; he trailed a finger down Mando’s stubbled cheek and a thumb along his lips.

“What are you doing?” Mayfield asked.

In response, Helbo tore at Mando’s armour in a frenzy, dropping the beskar to the ground before grabbing the shirt underneath, ripping it off to reveal a muscular chest far slenderer than Mayfield had initially pictured. Mayfield allowed the degradation of the great warrior, his intrigue over Mando’s body under the armour overcoming his disgust at Helbo’s actions.

“Do you reckon he’s been screwed without the mask?” Helbo asked.

“Why does it matter? Seriously, he’ll kill us when he wakes up.”

Grinning, Helbo trailed a hand down the light hair covering Mando’s chest.

“Helbo?” Mayfield grabbed his wrist.

“We’ve got ourselves a virgin here, I guarantee it. At least a virgin in terms of being taken up the ass fully naked. Lucky for us, we get the beskar _and_ him.” Helbo now ran a hand through Mando’s dark hair. “Didn’t picture him to be this kriffing _cute_. Let’s show him a good time. He’ll appreciate us so much he won’t want to put the mask on again.”

Mayfield broke out into incredulous laughter. “Are you _joking_? He’ll tear both of our arms off! Let’s just leave him. Forget the beskar.”

Helbo ignored him, grabbing Mando’s arms and thrusting them up, producing cuffs to restrain them to the bars of the bed’s headboard. Mayfield recalled the stormtroopers, his abdominal muscles clenching. The reality had been in front of him the entire time and he’d been too stupid to see it.

_I’m such a blaster brain._

“No, this isn’t happening. I said, this isn’t-” He reached for Helbo, grabbing his arm, for the other man to slam his fist into Mayfield’s cheek so hard he was driven back into the wall. “You wanna fight?”

“Yeah, I wanna fight!” Helbo said, laughing, as he turned from Mando’s lax body and kicked out at Mayfield, connecting with his stomach and sending him flying against the wall once more, this time hitting it so hard with the back of his head his vision darkened.

On the bed, Mando moaned.

“Oh, hello pretty man, you waking up?”

A grunt sounded followed by a yelp of pain. “Ow! That hurt, you wanna play, pretty? Huh?”

Mayfield rapidly blinked, swallowing the nausea rising in his stomach and clenching his oesophagus. Before him, Helbo had clambered onto the bed, on top of a struggling Mando, his hands clawing his captive’s pants down.

“You ever been taken up the ass by a _real man_ , pretty?”

Mando leaned forward and bit down so hard into Helbo’s shoulder it drew blood and the man screamed once more, before slamming his fist into Mando’s left cheek.

“Only I get to do the biting, you little dwang …”

With his vision still swimming, Mayfield searched for a weapon. Spying the beskar armour on the ground, he picked it up, rushed up behind the two still struggling men and slammed it hard onto Helbo’s head, a loud crack signalling his crushed skull, as he fell down onto Mando.

Grunting, Mayfield pushed the man off, with disgust noting his undone pants.

Mando was a mess; his torn shirt revealing a heaving chest bearing a bloodied bite mark on the left clavicle, his pants and underwear shoved down mid thighs. His hair was now matted with sweat and stuck to his face in swaths, the astringent smell pungent to Mayfield’s nostrils.

“Mando…. I’m so sorry…” he searched in Helbo’s pockets for the key to the handcuffs. “Are you ok?” He said, uncuffing Mando’s cuffs and turning away, out of respect, to pick up the armour, as Mando rearranged his clothes back on. “Of course you’re not okay, that kriffing shavit just tried to rape you!”

“I’ll be fine,” such a soft-spoken voice. “I was fine when it happened before. And it was worse then.”

Still holding the beskar armour in his hands, Mayfield turned back to Mando in open mouthed shock, to the beautiful brown eyes swimming with convoluted emotion.


	2. A New Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who read/commented/sent kudos for the first chapter. :)

Both stared at each other a long moment, blue irises focused on dark brown. Mando was the first to look away, black eyelashes flitting to the side.

“Give me the beskar… unless your plan is to try steal it,” the eyelashes flitted back.

“I had no plan to steal it…” Mayfield correctly guessed the scrunching of Mando’s nose to be indicative of sceptical repugnance. “I mean it! He told me he’d drugged you and I came in to save you.”

Judging Mando’s continued cynical expression ( _Why cover up such animated features? Mandalorian creed be damned!_ ), Mayfield had to work to convince him of the truth.

“I mean it! I mean, I get it. I’m scum. But I’m not stupid enough to try and steal your beskar after the damage I’ve seen you cause… To be honest, I was attempting to persuade him to do likewise…”

Mando bit his full bottom lip and glanced down at the body lying face down on the ground, blood seeping from the large head wound and pooling onto the carpet.

“I’m off my game. Taking food without even checking. Rookie mistake,” Mando said.

“Well, be thankful I was there then.”

An odd expression twinkled in the dark eyes and his lips now quirked, this time in obvious humour.

“What?” Mayfield said, handing him the armour. “I did just save you, didn’t I?”

“I can take care of myself,” Mando started to redress himself in the armour.

Mayfield clenched his fists, to cease from lashing out at the one who was refusing to acknowledge his role in stopping his violation from occurring.

“In case you didn’t notice, champ, you were in a tight spot. Literally handcuffed to the bed.”

“I missed. One bite to the jugular. That would have stopped him.” As he spoke, the flushed flesh of Mando’s neck and cheeks and sparkle in his irises pooled blood in a particular area of Mayfield’s body.

“Ok… well that’s disturbing. I’m just saying it appeared to me he was…” Mayfield swallowed and covered his crotch with his hands. “He wasn’t going to stop. I mean, he’d already taken off your armour. That’s the deepest form of disrespect, huh? Must have angered you.”

“It did,” Mando said.

“So that is it?” Mayfield threw his hands up in the air. “No ‘thanks for stopping a man from brutally raping me’?’”

“Well, considering you were _with_ him to begin with… Was that your plan, to go next?” Mando finished reattaching the last of his armour on his legs, but for his helmet and looked back to Mayfield.

“What? No! What do you think I-?” Mayfield’s cheeks heated, as he covered his crotch with his hands once more. “I was beyond disgusted when I realised what he had planned! Again, I was the one who stopped him. Remember?”

Mando sighed and rubbed his wrists, bruised from his struggles with the handcuffs.

“This is twice now you’ve seen me without my helmet.” He reached down, picked the heavy item off the ground and placed it on his lap.

“Yeah well, don’t worry abut it. I never saw your face… or your body, alright? This never happened.” As always, Mayfield's tongue formed words before his mind was able to stop them. “Though to be honest, it’s a shame.”

Mando’s brows furrowed in a quizzical expression.

“I get it. The creed and all that. But the fact is, you’re a handsome guy. Real cute. I know some people are attracted to the mask. The whole mystery sexy thing. But hey, if you wanted to get some action-“

He stopped ( _damn, Migs, stupid big mouth again_ ). Mando’s forehead was furrowing with such deep grooves multiple lines appeared.

“Okay, that was a stupid thing for me to say, considering what just… Just put the helmet on, alright? We’ll forget the last five minutes.”

The lines smoothed on his forehead and Mando threw his head back and laughed.

“Mayfield, you are something…” He giggled.

Mayfield’s heart ceased before tripling in beats, the valves snapping and opening, snapping and opening, snapping and opening, blood slamming around his being at an exorbitant rate, tingling his fingers and flushing his face. Mando was, indeed, a handsome man, to Mayfield, but when his face lit up in pure, unadulterated laughter, he went beyond to pure beauty; the pleasure boys with their too perfect visagess and bodies were ugly by contrast.

“Ok, I’m just going to say this now. You are beyond kriffing gorgeous.”

The laughter instantly ceased, the humour wiping from the genial face to a scowl, before the helmet slammed onto his head. Mayfield’s stomach soured at the loss of the alluring visage.

“So, what’s the plan?” Mayfield said, following Mando out of the room and back down the hall. It was incredible to him how Mando was acting as though the past five minutes hadn’t occurred; that he hadn’t almost been brutally violated and potentially even killed.

Then there was the admission of a past worse violation. What did that even mean? Both horror and intrigue circled around Mayfield’s mind.

“The plan is we’re going our separate ways,” Mando said.

_Oh come on, lovely, don’t be like that._

“I can help you.”

They had reached the door leading back into the bar.

“Remember how I helped before? I may be of use to you…”

The gloved hand remained on the door. He could envision those plump lips frowning under the helmet.

“Moff Gideon…” Mando said.

“You want access to him?”

“I want access to him.”

“Alright we can work something out with that.”

*

Mando’s new transport was as shiny as his beskar armour, with flashing instruments and bright colours. Even the vinyl seat covers were pristine.

“Nice vehicle…” Mayfield whistled, settling himself beside Mando.

“I prefer the Razor Crest. I _miss_ the Razor Crest,” Mando fired up the engine then enacted an odd move. He turned his helmeted head back to face the seat behind them both, starring at the furniture a long moment.

“What? Am I missing something?”

Mando turned back.

“Aw, you really miss the little green guy, don’t you?” Mayfield said. “What happened to him?”

Mando didn’t reply, instead manoeuvered the vehicle off the loading pad and into the air.

“Look, if I’m going to help you, I need to understand what is going on,” Mayfield complained.

“Just find me Moff Gideon,” Mando said.

*

Mando was a man of… Mayfield could argue limited words… or even no words, to be precise. One who was obviously comfortable sitting for long hours with another person without talking. Mayfield was the opposite. He was proud he lasted so long. After an hour, he fidgeted, drumming his hands along the top of the instrument panel and shifting. Mando didn’t respond, simply stared forward.

“Look with Helbo, I honestly didn’t… see what happened was we were palling around. He’s ex-imperial who hates the Empire. I’m ex-imperial who hates the empire. Seemed a good fit. Well, I was wrong about that.”

Mando continued to stare forward.

“We both saw you come into the bar. Helbo said something about going to the toilet. Then he came back and told me he’d spiked your drink.”

The helmeted head swiveled to face him.

“I admit I helped him bring you into the room because I thought it would be easier to deal with than in the bar with others who could be hurt. At that point, I was more worried about what _you_ were going to do when you woke up. I also thought his plan was just to steal the beskar. I was going to stop him, I swear.”

The helmeted head turned forward, once more.

“But then he went further, started undressing you and-“

“We’re not going to talk about this!” Mando said, with a sharp tone.

“Ok, I just wanted to explain-“

“I need to rest,” Mando said, standing. “By my calculations it’s going to be another three hours to Corellia. Don’t touch anything. Don’t steal anything. If you do, I’ll know.”

He moved to the door leading out of the cockpit and paused.

“And if you touch me again, I will kill you!”

“ _Again_?” Mayfield stood. “I didn’t lay a hand on you! What will it take to convince you I was trying to save you?”

Mando sauntered off. The man was full of contradictions. Even his lithe walk was testament to his strength and seeming invincibility. With the helmet on, he was deity-like in his status. He’d been intimate with the mask on. Xi’an had intimated as much. Mando’s half naked unconscious body materialised in Mayfield’s mind; he endeavoured not to recall his good-sized cock.

_No no no what’s wrong with you? He’d was almost raped! Was traumatised and you’re now thinking of that?_

Mayfield contented himself with the acknowledgment he hadn’t been lusting over Mando while he had been lying on the bed with his pants to his knees. His only consideration had been to preserve his dignity.

And before? When Helbo was undressing him?

_I’m an evil man._

Mayfield closed his eyelids; certain sleep wouldn’t come. However, dreamland was swift to take him.

*

The taste of gun oil and the metal of a gun barrel in his mouth drew him from his sleep.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now?” Mando asked, opaque as usual behind the helmet.

With his chest heaving and pulse beating so fast he was positive the beats were to merge together to be one, Mayfield skuttled back in his seat, removing the weapon from his mouth and placing a hand up to protect his face.

“Woh woh! Mando, what are you doing?”

“Not an answer!”

“Wait, I’ll take you where you need to go. I can lead you to Moff Gideon!”

“I can find him myself. Again, give me a reason why I should allow a _rapist_ to travel with me?”

Mayfield exhaled. “How often do we have to go over this? I wasn’t trying to-“

“I’m not talking about that time!”

“ _That_ time?” Mayfield stood up, allowing the fury coursing through his veins to give him strength to overcome his terror of impending death. “I have _never_ raped anyone!”

Mando’s chest was now rapidly rising and falling, a tremble overcoming his slender frame.

“Naboo. Eighteen months ago," Mando said.

“Eighteen months ago? I was in prison! You can look it up! Seriously, look me up!”

“ _Brown Eyes_? Why did you call me that?”

“Because…because I don’t know, it’s the first thing that came to me…”

“Well, it’s all come back to me now.” Mando lowered the weapon.

Mayfield cried out in agony, as the bullet dug into his thigh to splinter the bone.

“Admit what you did to me or you get one in the other leg!”

“Mando,” Mayfield clutched at the throbbing wound, pain coming over him in waves. “I need urgent medical attention!”

Mando cocked the gun.

“Mando, honestly, when we get to Corella, you can look me up! I was on prison eighteen months ago,” Mayfield said, clutching at the now bleeding thigh.

“So, it’s a _coincidence_ , you calling me Brown Eyes?”

“Seriously, I’m feeling light headed. I called you Brown Eyes because, maybe you’ve forgotten seeing as you wear the mask all the time. But that is your eye colour.”

Mando continued to hold the weapon on him, his aim unwavering.

“I’m not lying! This can be easily resolved by us looking me up. You’ll see I was in prison at that time.”

Mando lowered the weapon.

“Stay there. I’ll get the medipack.”

“So that’s it?” Mayfield called out, as he walked out of the room. “You just shot me in the leg, made it very difficult to complete our new mission seeing I’m not going to be able to walk properly!”

“You’ll be fine,” Mando said, returning to the room with a medipack.

“You really think I’m that terrible?” Mayfield said, as Mando rummaged through the medipack and withdrew a scalpel, packing gauze, forceps and bandages. “This is going to hurt, isn’t it?”

“You’ll live,” Mando said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be Mando's pov


	3. Remembering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the great response from the last chapter! I truly appreciate every kudos/bookmark and comment.  
> Onto the next!

The nightmare, which had not blighted his sleeping brain for six months, returned as soon as his helmet hit the pillow.

Naboo.

Eighteen months previous.

To surmise the previous job had not been easy would be to say Jedi were all flowers blooming on the lush green planet. (Even attesting to the power of Luke Skywalker and trusting him with his most precious Grogu, Din still kept to his assertion that Jedi’s preferred brutality over gentility.) The Razor Crest had crashed into an ice field. Upon attempting to fix his damaged vessel, Din had then himself fallen under the ice. This was before he took on two dozen heavily armed imperial fighters and their gunships.

He was hoping this job would entail less drowning and/or freezing.

The meeting place was simple enough; a dingy bar not dissimilar from thousands around the galaxy, filled with an assortment of dubious characters, such that the Mandalorian in his full armour strolling in elicited only a swift glance.

Din instantly recognised the one offering him the job from his orange jumpsuit. This man, Boris Jameson, informed him he was ex-rebel and needed a member of the imperial army to be taken out. Din walked over to the thin, overly tanned waving man ensconced in the corner perpendicular to the bar with the hopes of sealing the deal.

Imperial, rebel or not, none were of importance to him. A job was a job. He didn’t tend to enquire much further.

Din sat down opposite Boris, who eyed him up and down a long moment, a peculiar glint in his pale irises, smile vulpine, rising the tiny hairs on Din’s arms, though, at the time, he was amiss as to why.

To Din’s distress, he would soon discover the reason.

“Let’s talk terms,” Din said.

“First, have a drink with me,” Boris pushed the frothy concoction towards him.

“I’d rather not,” Din said, waving the drink away with his gloved hand.

“I insist.”

The dream did not waver, did not change from reality. He was useless to become the hero in his own story, to change fate. In the dream, he took the drink.

“Fine.”

At the time, he wanted to stay on good terms with a potential employer, and so gulped down the bitter alcohol.

As with the drugging eighteen months later, the narcotic didn’t take too long to take effect.

In reality, he had drifted in and out of unconsciousness, in the dream, he came to in an instant, eyelids snapping open.

Din was no stranger to pain, however, the intense sting originating from his backside was one he could not account for, but one that plunged his fingers into his stomach and tightened. His legs quavered, an unknown wet and sticky substance trailing down the flesh. Though he was fully clothed, even wearing the armour and helmet, his very cells cried out against their defilement, as though he was lying naked.

Something was wrong. Something had been… done to him.

“Wakey wakey…” the voice snarled. Laughter sounded.

“What have you done?” Din said, blearily looking around at his surroundings. He appeared to be in a bathroom, the tiled floor smeared with blood. Boris stood over him, with six other men behind him, grouped before the door leading out.

“I’m surprised you didn’t work out who I was. But then, why would you care about family members? Corvan. My brother. You delivered him to the imperial guards. They tortured him. They-“

“It was a job… They would have wanted him for a reason…” Din struggled to sit up, his ass still throbbing. “What have you done?” He repeated.

Behind Boris, the man with the shocking red hair and the dark-haired one beside him both laughed.

“Oh, not just me. I grabbed a group of the others from the bar, who were more than happy to violate a Mandalorian.”

More of the men laughed this time and the redhead whistled.

Din experienced the sensation of all of the blood reverting back to his organs, tingling his hands and feet and quadrupling his heart rate. He ran his tongue over his teeth, aware of a new taste in his mouth, one which clenched his stomach, threatening to send the acid and half digested food back up his oesophagus.

_No._

He told himself it couldn’t be. His helmet hadn’t been removed.

_No no no no._

“Are you in pain, Mando? How’s your ass right now? Bet it’s pretty sore,” Boris giggled. “You were good. Nice and tight. You’ll be shitting our come for weeks.”

The men cheered, their voices combined to produce a cacophony of unwanted praise.

_“How does it feel to have my come in you, Mando? Bet it feels nice, huh?”_

_“You wore me out, pretty, feels like my balls are gonna drop off from overuse.”_

_“So tight, pretty. Did you enjoy your virgin ass being taken?”_

“I don’t believe you,” Din said, telling himself to hold onto optimism.

“Oh yes, you don’t remove the armour, do you?” Boris said. “Your _creed_. Well, we have no such compunctions. I would have had you if you looked like a Hutt. But it turns out you’re a handsome man under there. Made taking your ass all the easier, as well as that pretty mouth. At one point, your eyes opened. I was convinced you’d woken up! Such pretty eyes too. Brown eyes. Pretty brown eyed man.”

*

Din gasped, his pounding heart snapping him from his sleep, back to his new ship and plan to get Grogu back. He killed Boris, he reminded himself. Shot him, as well as all the other men bragging about despoiling him. Typically, death to him involved cold practicality. In that instance, however, he had enjoyed their begs.

Though they were insistent they had removed his helmet, in Din’s mind, it didn’t occur.

Even if the man had mentioned his eye colour, it still wasn’t proof he had taken the helmet off while violating him. Perhaps it was a lucky guess. Din wasn’t after all, the only brown eyed man in the galaxy. There were billions of them.

But then there was Mayfield…

On Morak, Din had been so intent on Grogu, the brown eyes remark, apart from being an anomaly, was then forgotten. But now, Mayfield had repeated himself.

Twice now, he’d seen him without his mask on. He had also been there while another had attempted to drug and violate him.

To Din, it was too much of a coincidence.

Withdrawing his weapon, he clambered out of his bed chamber and strode back into the cockpit, to spy Mayfield sitting in the chair with his head back, a gurgling snore ripping from his throat.

Din recalled the hours after his attack. He was able to bathe, as long as he didn’t remove his helmet or reveal himself to other people. His body had been a map of his trauma, from the bruises, bites and scratches discolouring his neck, thighs, hips, back and stomach, to the blood trickling from his torn opening as well as other fluids confirming the violation.

Din considered himself to be a practical man. He had been violated, fine. But he had killed those responsible and that was the end of it. He’d be careful what he ate the next week, until he healed of the physical trauma and would remember to be more careful in the future.

(The ensuing flashbacks and intense nightmares, or the hyperventilation when the most innocuous of events were occurring, or need to distance himself from others, or often sour mood and inability to find hope in his life were not a consideration to his lifestyle as a bounty hunter.)

Watching the man sleep, Din convinced himself Mayfield had to have been there, on that planet, had been in that bar. Din prided himself on his accurate memory for detail but, even so, he could be wrong. In fact, he recalled, wasn’t there a man in the far corner of the bar with a bald head?

Settling the confusion in his mind, he decided he would force a confession, before a swift execution.

Mayfield startled awake as soon as the gun lodged in his mouth.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now?” Mando asked, thankful the anxiety quivering his thighs didn’t display in his voice.

Mayfield scuttled back in his seat, removing the weapon from his mouth and placing a hand up to protect his face.

“Woh woh! Mando, what are you doing?”

“Not an answer!”

“Wait, I’ll take you where you need to go. I can lead you to Moff Gideon!”

Of course, the tactic of a rapist, evading the answer.

“I can find him myself. Again, give me a reason why I should allow a _rapist_ to travel with me?”

Mayfield exhaled. “How often do we have to go over this? I wasn’t trying to-“

“I’m not talking about that time!”

“ _That_ time?” Mayfield stood up and paced, clenching his fists. “I have _never_ raped anyone!”

_Of course, he’ll deny it. He only wants to chat about it when it’s convenient for him and he wants to taunt me._

“Naboo. Eighteen months ago.”

“Eighteen months ago? I was in prison! You can look it up! Seriously, look me up!”

Din blinked, furrowing his brow.

_No, no it can’t be! He had to have been there!_

“ _Brown Eyes_? Why did you call me that?”

“Because…because I don’t know, it’s the first thing that came to me…”

Despite his heaving breath, calm settled over Din’s being, ceasing his trembling frame.

“Well, it’s all come back to me now.” Din fired his first warning shot into Mayfield’s leg. “Admit what you did to me or you get one in the other leg!”

“Mando, I need urgent medical attention!”

Din cocked the gun.

“Mando, honestly, when we get to Corella, you can look me up! I was on prison eighteen months ago,” Mayfield said, clutching at the now bleeding thigh.

“So, it’s a _coincidence_ , you calling me Brown Eyes?”

“Seriously, I’m feeling light headed. I called you Brown Eyes because maybe you’ve forgotten seeing as you wear the mask all the time. But that _is_ your eye colour.”

_No, I don’t believe you. That’s what Boris called me. He… he said he removed the helmet._

“I’m not lying! This can be easily resolved by us looking me up. You’ll see I was in prison at that time.”

Din lowered the weapon, confusion replacing the cold rationalism of being convinced he was right.

“Stay there. I’ll get the medipack.”

“So that’s it?” Mayfield’s voice sounded, as Din left the room for the medical compartment. “You just shot me in the leg, made it very difficult to complete our new mission seeing I’m not going to be able to walk properly!”

“You’ll be fine,” Mando said, returning to the room with a medipack.

“You really think I’m that terrible?” Mayfield said, as Din rummaged through the medipack and withdrew a scalpel, packing gauze, forceps and bandages. “This is going to hurt, isn’t it?”

“You’ll live,” Din said, biting his lip and attempting to ignore the guilt piercing his insides.

_What is wrong with me? Need to be focused, Din!_

“This will hurt,” Din said.

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Mayfield said, and screamed, as Din plunged the forceps into the wound, removing the bullet. “Ooh … …” Mayfield muttered under his breath. Din packed the wound with packing gauze, before wrapping the other man's leg with the bandages. “I’ll get you some pain relief.”

Before Mayfield could respond, he walked off back down the corridor carrying the medical items, returned them to the medical bay and came back with two pills, which he handed to Mayfield.

“So you get me these _now_? What was that about?” Mayfield asked, after swallowing the tablets.

“We don’t need to discuss this again,” Din said.

“Again, you just shot me! I think that warrants a discussion!”

Din paused, exhaled through his nose.

“You saw my face.”

“As we’ve already discussed, it doesn’t matter-“

“Clearly it did because the very first thing you mentioned was my eye colour! Why mention that?”

“Why not?” Mayfield shrugged.

“You could have mentioned anything else!”

“I guess I was… surprised, that’s all. You weren’t… what I was expecting.”

Din continued to stare at him through the helmet, in a prompt for him to continue.

“Look, you’re… amazing in action. I’ve got to say it. I was half expecting you to be part android or something. But then, under the mask was just a man. A man clearly worried for his lost kid. It was all there on your face, in your eyes.”

Grogu.

Even the mention of the child’s name iced his insides.

Though the child was at the forefront of his mind, he had not contacted Luke Skywalker since handing Grogu over. Grogu was safe, that was all he cared for.

(It was no concern of his that even the mere thought of Grogu sliced a hole straight through him. No, he wasn’t avoiding bringing his mind in that direction. Grogu was in his past. If he was experiencing mourning over his loss, that would dissipate, in time. Or so he told himself… repeatedly… until the news came to him that Grogu had escaped- or been captured- from Luke’s training academy. The news had now compounded the pain of losing Grogu with added terror for his safety.)

_I just need to find Grogu._

A memory invaded his mind; Grogu sat in the chair behind him, fiddling with the silver ball and smiling, his black eyes wide with wonder.

_No, don’t do this to yourself._

“We’ll be there soon. Let me know if you need any more pain relief,” Din moved away to declare the conversation over.

“You okay? I mean you’re dealing with a lot,” Mayfield said. “First your kid going missing and being almost raped-“

Din flinched.

“What happened eighteen months ago?” Mayfield said, with a surprising kind tone. “Someone raped you, didn’t they?”

“That is none of your business. We are not discussing this.”

“Okay, not me. Fair enough. But you should discuss it with _someone_. Take this from a person who has suffered a fair amount of trauma. Not what you went through but still… Holding it in makes it worse-“

“I said the conversation is over!” Din stomped out of the room to his bed pod, pressed the button to open and close the door, and enclosed himself in the warm, safe space.

_Kriffing dwang!_

Din inhaled and exhaled deeply, to temper his erratic breathing. His loud pulse quivered his eardrums violently.

Mayfield, as usual, had no idea. The men on Naboo had not only raped him, they had violated his very manhood; beyond, torn through his soul, leaving a wraith who travelled the now grey galaxy, stripping the spectacle of the former colour.

Until he met Grogu.

Storming through the imperial troopers to get back to him, and holding him in his arms once more, a speck of brightness had returned, expanding as his adventures with the magical green creature continued, to approximate the vivid palette of his previous life. Din laughed more, smiled more, joked with his friends. Even made friends to begin with.

_You’ll find Grogu. Just focus on that._

Whistling air through his pursed lips, Din opened the pod door to return to the cockpit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Moff Gideon pov


	4. Moff Gideon's Tactic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all who are reading.  
> Warning in this chapter for reference to the non-consensual filming of porn.

Moff Gideon’s vast mind was not one to ponder the philosophy of Jedis. If they even still existed (and he had no reason to suspect they had survived Order 66, until Luke-ruiner of all his plans- Skywalker came on board his shuttle, destroyed all of his Dark Troopers and walked off with The Child), they were of no concern of his. Had he sat down and had a conversation with Luke, he would have noted odd similarities in regards to their viewpoints. Like the Jedi, Gideon was a firm believer in the tempering of emotions. In Gideon’s view, extreme emotion inevitably will lead to negative consequences. Hence, whenever his stormtroopers expressed a threat of losing control of emotions, he took care of the problem, in a lethal way. He was also a believer in a mystical approach to life, in combination with the technological advantages of the imperial army.

Hence, when he needed to convene with the Mandalorian and said man tracked down his cruiser, entered and ploughed through a dozen stormtroopers with his typical droid-like precision, Gideon did not question the coincidence. To him, this was kismet, fate, whatever ying-yang situation the philosophers on Alderaan would ponder over, in ancient times. He had taken The Child from the Mandalorian. The Mandalorian had taken The Child back. Then Luke Skywalker had taken The Child from The Mandalorian, only for The Child to disappear. Hence the circle recommenced.

Soon, The Child would be back with Gideon and all would be in order once more.

On the consoles displaying touchscreen views of the ship’s corridors, the Mandalorian (as well as another, familiar looking man) took out two more stormtroopers, with obvious intent to enter the main bridge upon which Gideon was standing.

Gideon was a firm believer in solving difficulties with logical reasoning. Despite their differences, working together would achieve the best outcome for both. He hoped to prove this to Din Djarin, as soon as they were able to talk face to face which, according to Din’s approximation from where Gideon stood, would take around one minute.

On the touchscreen before Gideon, in corridor 5a, Din slammed the heads of two stormtroopers together, knocking them out.

“Everyone, leave this room!” Gideon ordered.

Thirty seconds.

The men and women at the flashing and beeping consoles turned to stare at him.

“I said out!”

In a flurry of activity, the men and women exited the bridge.

Ten seconds.

Gideon raised his weapon, as the doors opened, and Din strolled in, with another familiar man behind him. It took Gideon a moment to recognise Migs Mayfield.

“Where’s the child?” Din asked, steadying his blaster at Gideon, the door snicking shut behind him and his companion.

“Hello to you too,” Gideon said.

“Look, I’d rather we not all kill each other, so tell him what he needs to know,” Mayfield was holding his own, less impressive blaster towards Gideon. But then, to Gideon, Mayfield was never going to be an extraordinary person, to the extent he was curious as to why Din was allowing him to tag along.

“I don’t know…” Gideon said. “I’m telling the truth.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe?” Mayfield said, taking a step closer. “So, let me get this straight. You get captured by Cara Dune, only for stormtroopers to storm her transport and rescue you, then throw her in an imperial prison for insubordination. Then in a sheer coincidence, the little green guy suddenly goes missing… and you don’t know anything about it?”

Gideon lowered his weapon. He had expected his reasoning from Din, not his current lackey.

“Of course not,” Gideon said. “Which is why we’re going to work together to help find him.”

“If you’re telling the truth, then I came here for no reason,” Din said.

“We can help each other out,” Gideon said and paused for effect. “I’d prefer not to use blackmail.”

“You have nothing on me,” Din’s tone displayed his amusement at the concept.

Gideon allowed his own cold amusement to uplift his lips, as he reached into a pocket in his shirt and withdrew a chip.

_Arrogance does not become you, Mandalorian._

“I have an interesting story to tell,” Gideon said. “A month ago, we raided Naboo. A few of the locals were insubordinate so we were forced to take… drastic action.”

If these words were affecting Din in anyway, his body language remained the same; alert but guarded, his frame still, breath steady.

“As were stripping them of intel we found a chip… _this_ chip…” He held the tiny metallic object in the air. “The stormtrooper who gave it to me assured me he had been the only one to view the contents. I then…. Relieved him of his duties.”

“What are you going on about?” Mayfield asked, folding his arms and rolling his eyes.

Without responding, Gideon placed the chip into a slot in the nearest console and pressed play.

A three-dimensional image materialised in the air before them, filmed by an old-style camera, judging by the static and slightly blurred quality.

A naked, dark-haired man lay on his back on bloodied tiles, his legs bent in half over his shoulders, body jolting from another man remorselessly plundering him, blood spilling down his inner thighs with each rough thrust. The pornographic footage showed, in vivid fashion, the brutal penetration from the muscular man kneeling over him. Though the victim’s eyes were closed, for a moment, vacant brown irises displayed, before his eyelids fluttered shut. No sound issued, perhaps the only blessing to the horrific footage. The rapist flung his head back and thrust faster, before collapsing down onto his victim, biting deep into his neck. As he withdrew, he wiped his bloodied and semen-stained cock on his victim’s thigh.

Throughout the shocking footage, in clear view beside the dark-haired man’s head sat his Mandalorian helmet and other folded armour.

“You kriffing scrag!” Mayfield said, rushing forward. Gideon repocketed the chip and held his weapon up again.

“Now the one who made this footage is dead, as are the others involved, You saw to that,” Gideon said to Din, who had not moved position, not displayed any signal that the footage had affected him; no increased breath or tremble was visible under the armour. “The stormtrooper who also viewed it is dead. The only other ones who now know about this are the three of us in this room. Allow me to go with you to find The Child, and I’ll make sure the chip is disposed of.”

“Maybe we will just kill you right here,” Mayfield said. From the tremble in his tone, _he_ was affected by the footage, at least.

“How do you know I haven’t made a copy?” Gideon said.

Din pulled out a chair and sat down with a heavy thud. Before Mayfield or Gideon could react, he removed the helmet from his head and threw it to the ground, where it landed with a loud clang. Gideon blinked. Despite having an interest in the mystical aspects of life, he still appreciated stability and order. Din Djarin was consistent, at least, in continually taking order and smashing it down, with the surety as Luke Skywalker had Gideon’s Dark Troopers.

_Why did he just go against his creed?_

“What are you doing, Mando?” Mayfield said, rushing forward to pick up the helmet. “Put it back on!”

“They overcame me…brutalised me…and worse… How do we know they didn’t show that footage to others? I no longer _deserve_ to wear the helmet. I’m no longer a true Mandalorian,” Din’s right hand shook, as he folded it within his left, in a clear attempt to hide the sign of his anxiety.

_Finally, a reaction. Nice to see you are human, after all._

“Oh, shut up with that nonsense and put the damn helmet back on!” Mayfield stepped over to forcefully place the bulky metal back onto his head. In response, Din snatched the helmet out of his hand and threw it aside again.

“Why does it matter?” Din said. “Why does any of it matter? It was a cult. Bo-Katan told me so.”

Mayfield retrieved the helmet once more and knelt beside him. “Do you think it’s possible you’re not… thinking straight right this moment? Seeing oneself being raped is not exactly going to make us right in the head.” He placed the helmet in Din’s hands. This time, Din clasped the heavy item onto his lap.

“Din Djarin,” he said. “My name.”

“Now that’s sweet,” Gideon said, catching Mayfield’s smile. “Back to the plan.”

“I’ll kill you,” Mayfield said, scowling at Gideon. “First chance I get.”

“If I’m to be honest, my plan isn’t to humiliate you, Din,” Gideon said. “Or retraumatise you. Rape is such a barbaric form of abuse. I simply wish to find The Child, as you do. I assure you, no one else has seen this footage, nor will they.”

“You’re one sick man,” Mayfield said, glaring at Gideon, before turning back to Din. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, okay? The shame is on the men who abused you.”

“You can help me find Grogu?” Din asked Gideon.

Though far less intimidating without the helmet, there was a steeled rage peeking under the surface of his brown irises, one that reminded Gideon here was a man not to trifle with.

“You’re not seriously thinking of _working_ with this maniac?” Mayfield asked, flinging his hands up into the air with disbelief.

Din bit his bottom lip and glanced at Gideon’s pocket, where the chip lay.

“How many copies?”

“Once we find The Child or Grogu as you call him, I’ll tell you where you can find them,” Gideon said.

“Or you can tell us now!” Mayfield strode up and shoved his blaster in Gideon’s face.

“Such loyalty,” Gideon’ snickered. “One wonders why one as yourself cares.”

He glanced at Din, who was now gnawing on his bottom lip, brown eyes cast downwards. Gideon was too prideful to admit his dismay for Din’s humiliation. They were on opposite sides, but he had grown to respect the man’s tenacity and warmth for those he cared for. Furthermore, despite what Mayfield was conjecturing, the first time Gideon had seen the footage, he’d been sickened by the contents.

As well as surprised by the appearance of the famed Mandalorian.

He was, indeed, just a man.

Gideon wasn’t sure what he was expecting but not this brown haired, moustached man with an average build and height. He supposed he was handsome, if one were appreciative of other’s looks. Gideon, who found nil attraction to any gender, had no reference to judge.

Watching Mayfield’s protection of the other man, Gideon suspected Mayfield was able to judge Din’s physical looks. Furthermore, was appreciative of them.

“Maybe for the same reasons you don’t,” Mayfield elongated his spine.

Retching sounded behind him and Mayfield spun to Din vomiting into a nearby bin.

“Kriff!” Mayfield said, moving to kneel beside Din, who now sat on the ground, wiping his mouth with a shaky hand.

“Let’s just…. Get out of here. Promise me…” Din went to rise. Mayfield reached to help him, but Din placed a hand out in a signal for him to stop. Din took two audible deep breaths and stood, brown irises boring into Gideon’s own.

“Promise me what?”

“When I release you, you don’t try and track me down. And I will have any copies of that chip, also.”

Expecting a ruse, Gideon raised his blaster to fire. Din’s helmet knocked the weapon from his hand, before the Mandalorian pressed a button on his sleeve, propelling two wires to shoot out to attach to Gideon’s chest.

Must have upgraded his armour, Gideon thought, as electric fire burst through his slender frame.

“No need to pick that up, I no longer want it,” Din said, as Gideon slumped to the ground, viewing Mayfield’s hand scoop up the helmet.

“I really believe you’ll change your mind on that,” Mayfield said, as Gideon slid into the inky black of unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter back to Din's pov


End file.
